This story involves sexual contact between young males. If
such stories are not appealing to you, or it is illegal to read such material
in your jurisdiction, please do not continue reading.

Cody was confused. It had been a few days since
he'd spent that special night with Bryan, and while Bryan was relishing
memories of that night, and wondering how soon it might be repeated, Cody was
just plain confused. He remembered how two years earlier, he and Doug had
experienced those moments of passion, when their lust for sexual release had
resulted in male-to-male contact that had both exhilarated and frightened him.
Cody recalled how shaken he had been following the encounter with Doug in their
Indianapolis hotel room. For weeks after, he had avoided Doug as much as
possible, afraid his older teammate would be angry about what had happened, and
maybe take revenge on him. He feared perhaps he would be `outed' as a fag, a queer,
a homo -- and that could be a death sentence for a college athlete. Sure, he
could have countered Doug's claims with statements of his own -- about how Doug
had given him a blow job that night, but would anyone believe his word over
the team captain's? Doug had likewise pulled away from him, perhaps suffering
from the same acute fear and dread. A few months later, Doug graduated and
moved to another city. They had kept in touch for maybe six months or so, with
a few friendly, non-specific e-mails, but as time passed, their relationship had
faded.

Since then, Cody had avoided relationships with
other guys. He'd had a couple of casual girlfriends in the past two years, but
nothing serious. The other guys just assumed the handsome stud was `playing
the field' -- little did they know how tormented he was, confused over his
desire to be "normal, one of the guys", and the strange and wonderful feelings
that welled up within him each time he thought about what he and Doug had
shared. Cody had been careful to never let his personal feelings show -- yes,
he had been attracted to a couple of his teammates since Doug's departure, but
he had fought -- so far, successfully -- to hide those feelings. Now, a new
source of torment had entered his life. Bryan. Sweet, tender Bryan. The
young, innocent freshman was so open, so trusting, and so willing to share his
bed and his body. Cody could feel two years of defenses crumbling, and it
terrified him. "Concentrate on wrestling," he told himself. "Stay focused. Keep
the grades up" As he prepared for the afternoon's practice, these thoughts
were rushing through his head. Then, a smiling Bryan entered the gym, and
Cody's mind began once again to stray...

"OK, guys, good work-out today," said Coach
Weber. "Now, for tomorrow's practice, don't report here to the gym. We're
going to work on some aerobic and cardiovascular training, so report to the
natatorium, and bring your suits."

"What was that, Coach?" "The nata...what?" "Where
do you want us to report?" "Our suits? Like suit and tie?" Such questions
echoed around the room as several of the wrestlers began speaking at once.

"The pool next door to this building, guys!
Natatorium -- n-a-t-a-t-o-r-i-u-m," said Coach Weber. "The swimming pool. We
are going to swim tomorrow -- get your heart rates up, work on some aerobic
stuff. So bring your swimsuits with you."

Several of the boys looked perplexed, but
shrugged their shoulders and said they would dig out their trunks from the
bottom of their small dorm or apartment closets. Two of the guys, including
Cody, admitted they had not brought swimming gear with them to campus, but the
coach assured them he would talk to the swim coach and probably find suits for
them, as well as goggles. Bryan was excited about swimming -- since he'd
arrived at Holden, he had not yet found time to try out the nice pool, he was
just too busy with classes and wrestling practice. Cody was not so
enthusiastic, finally whispering to Bryan as they left the gym that he didn't
know how to swim. "Really?" responded Bryan, assuming Cody excelled at any and
every sport. "Gee, Cody, don't be nervous. I'll show you tomorrow -- you'll be
swimming like Michael Phelps in no time!" Cody smiled somewhat shakily, but
the smile showed little confidence. "We'll see," was all he muttered as he
hopped onto his bike and headed for his apartment.

The following afternoon, Bryan was running a
little late. His last class was on the side of campus farthest from the gym,
so he was usually a few minutes late to practice anyway. He reached the pool
and followed the signs to the locker room. Quickly removing his clothes, he
reached into his backpack and fished out his swimsuit -- the suit he'd worn for
summer league meets. It was a Speedo, navy blue with the team name "Stingrays"
in gold letters across the seat. "Man, it feels good to put this on," thought Bryan, as he relished the thought of hitting the cool water for the first time since August.
"I've really missed swimming -- this is so great!" He rushed out to the pool
deck, and hurried over toward where Coach Weber and his teammates were huddled by
the edge of the pool. As he neared them, a chorus of snickering and laughing
reached his ears as all eyes turned to look at him.

"A Speedo!" "Whoa, look at that itsy-bitsy
bikini!" "Oh no, Bryan -- we can't look!" "Dude, that's the smallest Speedo
I've ever seen!" -- these and similar comments filled the air as Bryan walked up to the group, suddenly feeling awkward and bashful. He hadn't had a second
thought about donning his team Speedo. He was at a swimming pool, he was
wearing a swim suit. Only then did he notice every other guy in the group was
wearing the ubiquitous `board shorts' -- those baggy, droopy, `ayatollah' pants
so popular with young men his age. Glancing at them, covered from navel to
knees, then at himself, barely covered at all, he felt nearly naked.
Self-consciously, he dropped his hands in front of his groin, trying to shield
his `privates' from the stares and sidelong glances his small suit seemed to be
generating. Coach Weber had just opened his mouth to say something, when a new
chorus of wolf whistles and snide remarks arose from the group, as Cody and Jamie
Knox came slinking onto the deck from the direction of the swim team's lockers,
arms and hands clasped in front of themselves as they tried to make a quiet,
unnoticed entrance wearing suits the swim coach had located for them. The swim
team coach had donated suits from a stash he had of last year's varsity
supply. The swim team was destined to receive new suits that fall, so the few
old ones remaining from the previous year were available for distribution. Per
Coach Weber's request, the swim team coach had indeed provided the wrestlers
without swim gear for the day's practice -- brief racing suits, bright red (the
school color), and looking ridiculously skimpy on the two muscular athletes'
bodies. The hoots and hollers reached a crescendo as the two approached, their
faces as red as the suits they barely wore.

"What in the hell is wrong with you guys,"
bellowed the coach, who was surprised at the negative reaction a swim suit
could generate from a large group of college athletes. "What is wrong with the
suits these three are wearing? You there -- Collins -- you've been having a good
laugh -- what is so funny?"

"Well, um, Coach, it's just that, well, LOOK at
those suits they are wearing! Sheesh -- could anything leave less to the
imagination? Their `stuff' all out there for everyone to see and everything.
Man, you wouldn't catch me dead in one of those tiny things!" So stated Luke
Collins, with many of the others nodding assent.

Coach Weber glanced from one to another, shaking
his head. "Gentlemen, there is nothing shameful or embarrassing about your
male physiques. These three boys are appropriately dressed for a swimming
workout. Rather, it is the rest of you who look ridiculous in those get-ups.
Be that as it may, if that is what you've brought to swim in, so be it. I will
be joining you for this session, though more to assist the lifeguards who may
need to perform several rescues this afternoon, and I prefer to be comfortable
in the water." With that, Coach Weber proceeded to strip off his tee-shirt,
kick off his shoes, and peel down his sweatpants, to reveal he, too, was
wearing a bright red team competition brief. The boys stared open-mouthed --
partly out of shock at seeing their coach so scantily clad, but mainly due to
the sight they now beheld -- a 36 year-old male, a perfect specimen of masculine
energy and fitness, with a body that had gained, at most, maybe five pounds
since his collegiate wrestling days some fifteen years earlier. A stunned
silence fell on the group, none of whom had seen so much of their coach before.
Walking to the pool's edge, Coach Mark Weber dove neatly into the water,
slicing into it like a warm knife into butter.

"Wow, look at Coach!" exclaimed Luke, stunned
that a wrestling coach even knew how to swim. The crowd was silent as their
coach swam an easy 100 freestyle, neatly doing flip turns at each wall. He
stopped back where the wrestlers waited, then said, "Well, what are you guys
waiting for? Hop in!" The wrestlers entered the water -- some doing silly
cannonballs, a couple doing dives, most just entering feet-first, several
rather timidly.

Bryan dove in and did a quick 100 free, loving
the feel of the water on his skin, forgetting the momentary embarrassment he'd
felt a few minutes earlier over the small suit he wore. Bryan paused next to
his coach, who complemented him on his excellent stroke. As the two of them
glanced around, they were both surprised to see how few of the other guys even
knew how to execute a proper arm pull. "Oh man, Bryan," said the coach, "will
you help me give these guys a few pointers?" Bryan assured him he would, and
the entire group made their way to the shallower end of the pool. A few of the
guys were able to swim some basic strokes, but at least half were relative
novices in the water, and Bryan and Coach Weber spent the better part of the
hour helping that group get accustomed to the water, and pick up a few general
tips on stroke techniques. Bryan worked with Cody and Luke, showing them
breathing, kicking, and stroke mechanics. Cody was especially nervous, and Bryan was forced several times to support both boys on their backs as they worked on
floating and body position. Each time he held Cody, Bryan was amused by the
way his friend's hips would rise, thrusting his `package' above the surface of
the water. Bryan would never admit he'd used his leverage to raise Cody's hips
just that high!

At first, Luke rejected any notion of Bryan helping him. "I don't want some dude in a Speedo putting his arms under me and
cradling me in the water," he sputtered. But after several failed attempts to
float, he finally surrendered some of his masculine pride and asked Bryan for help. By the end of the hour, most of the guys at least had the basic idea, and
those who were more experienced in swimming had already started a few sets of
50 yard sprints the coach had assigned. Bryan easily won the sprints, though
they were not really racing at all, just working steadily to increase heart
rates. The slower learners did participate in some 25s, however, but because
of their extra struggling in the water, their heart rates were actually higher
than those of the better swimmers!

Finally, it was time to leave the pool. Many of
the guys admitted they had enjoyed the workout more than they thought they
would, and the coach told them they would be coming back to the pool perhaps
once a week as part of their training. While Coach Weber exited the water to
dry off and change, the boys remained for several minutes, practicing some of
the techniques they had learned, or just winding down. Finally, the group
climbed out of the water and headed back to the locker room.

"Well, that was different, I'll say that much,"
said big Bryan, the B-Man. Jamie, still in his extremely small and revealing Holden College team Speedo, started to walk by him, when B-Man suddenly wrapped a beefy arm
around Jamie's chest and under his arms, then hoisted him several inches off
the ground. "So, big guy, how did you like that little Speedo?" he said, as
Jamie struggled to get free. Several of the boys gathered around the pair,
always up for some good old-fashioned horseplay.

"Let me go, man!" yelped little Jamie, as he
twisted and turned futilely in the bigger wrestler's grasp. B-Man only
laughed, and hoisted Jamie even higher off the floor, thrusting his large thigh
under Jamie, forcing the smaller wrestler to lean back, which thrust his
barely-covered groin out. Jamie's tight, muscular torso was completely
exposed, and his small swim suit had slipped down a little, exposing just a
tuft of his dark brown pubes. Joining in the fun, Luke sauntered over and
began to playfully tickle the little guy's exposed abs and sides, causing poor
Jamie to squeal and laugh. The smaller wrestler was totally helpless, as B-Man
outweighed him by perhaps eighty or ninety pounds of pure muscle. As Luke
continued to tease his torso, touching and flitting his fingers softly over
Jamie's body, Jamie began to feel a strange tingling sensation in his
testicles. Luke's fingers continued to tease him, and once -- and then again --
they `accidentally' brushed a little too far down, swiftly, teasingly brushing
lightly along Jamie's rapidly lengthening penis where it pressed against the
suit's thin fabric.

"No, no," Jamie's mind screamed, as he realized
what was happening. He was getting excited -- DOWN THERE -- IN A SPEEDO -- in
front of his teammates! "This can't be happening to me!" he thought, as he
tried without success to twist away from Luke's agile fingers. He fought to
maintain control, but he knew it was no use when he heard those dreaded words...

"Dude, are you getting a boner in that little
suit of yours?" said one of the chuckling observers. Immediately, a dozen
pairs of eyes dropped from Jamie's face to his crotch -- and remained there,
watching with amazement and amusement as poor Jamie's body began to respond to
the torment his buddies were putting him through. And when Jamie saw that all
eyes were on his groin, watching the show his genitalia had decided to put on --
without his permission -- he knew his body would not disappoint them.
Instantly, he felt a new surge of excitement, as blood rushed to his sex organ,
filling, plumping, then hardening it in a matter of seconds. Within moments,
his erection was obvious as it strained against the tight, shiny red fabric
encasing it. It was his worst nightmare come true -- totally exposed, totally
helpless, and totally erect in front of every guy on the team. What was worse,
he could feel the head of his dick pressing right up against the waistband,
where he had just untied the drawstring a second or so before B-Man had grabbed
him. Now, suddenly, he felt it happen -- his cockhead slip past the slightly
loose waistband, and snake outside his Speedo and reveal itself to the waiting
crowd. "Oh damn, he does have a boner, and he's decided to share it with us,"
said Luke, who had suddenly stopped tickling the boy, but whose fingers now
hovered menacingly close to Jamie's hard dick. A movement of mere inches would
place his fingers right on the shaft, or right on the pink head that was now winking
at the admiring throng like a one-eyed snake that had come out of the ground
for a breath of fresh air.

Poor Jamie was totally mortified, yet helpless
to change his circumstances. He was under B-Man's control, held perhaps a foot
off the ground, his legs kicking weakly while his upper body was immobilized by
Bryan's strong arms. Luke was standing before him, snickering at his
predicament, and now focusing everyone's attention on Jamie's hard, throbbing
dick -- a dick that had made an uninvited appearance above the waistband of his
small suit. Jamie tried to twist again -- but stopped instantly when he felt
the waistband rub against the sensitive underside of his shaft, causing him to
shudder involuntarily with desire. The guys around him had stepped a little
closer, and now formed a semi-circle of ogling, horny young males who were
themselves becoming aroused by their teammate's excited condition. Several of
the guys were inadvertently touching their own manhoods, gently squeezing
themselves, or plucking furtively at the fabric of their board shorts in an
attempt to create a little expansion room in the wet material. As Jamie
realized his own erection was generating similar hardenings in the young men
around him, it only fueled his own libido, causing his cock to begin jumping
and twitching with excitement. The small Speedo slipped yet a bit further
down, allowing more of his boner to stretch forth, with now a good three inches
of his `pocket rocket' protruding into the open air above the waistband. `Oh,
no, no," groaned the helpless wrestler, as he now felt dampness on his
cockhead. Glancing down shamefacedly, he could see a large drop of precum
oozing from his piss slit, glistening in the light as it clung to his
mushroom-shaped cap.

The other guys were now nearly beside
themselves, their own sex-drives revving into high gear at the site of one of
their own so erect, so sexually charged. The corner of the locker room had
grown warm, and quiet, as each wrestler became lost in his own needs, his own
desires. Only the faint gasps from Jamie, as he still struggled to free
himself yet also maintain control of himself, could be heard, though each boy
would have sworn the pounding of his own heart was deafening. And then it
happened. Luke, entranced by the sight before him, tentatively reached out and
gently brushed his index finger across Jamie's slick knob. And with that,
Jamie lost all control. His dick throbbed mightily, then, trapped against his
lower belly by the suit, began spewing his jizz upward in ropy white arcs onto
his chest and tummy, even splashing onto B-Man's brawny arm.

"Oh, fuck..." sighed one witness, as another said,
"Damn, look at the kid spooge himself." Luke simply said, "Look at him shoot
his load," as Jamie continued to ejaculate jets of white-hot sex juice, coating
his muscular torso with ribbons of his own cream, one drop landing directly on
his hard brown left nipple.

Suddenly, a voice from nearby called out. "You
guys coming yet?" It was Coach Weber, who had popped his head through the door
at the far end of the locker room. To no one in particular, Jeremy Gasconde
quietly stated, "One of us just did," a statement that caused several of the
other guys to laugh nervously. Too far to see what was happening, the coach
simply stated, "Hurry up and change! I want to meet with the team briefly
before we end practice for the day."

The spell had been broken -- shakily, the group
pulled apart as B-Man lowered his weakened and drained smaller teammate to the
floor. Quickly, Jamie tucked his still-seeping cock into the small suit as
best he could, then ran into the nearby showers to clean off, refusing to look
either right or left as he went, his face beet red. The other athletes hurried
to their lockers, trying their best to hide the large tents in the fronts of
their own suits. Conversation and crude jokes soon returned, as each tried to
put aside the unusual events that had just transpired. Yet some of them did
not attempt to put aside all such memories, but instead locked them away in the
darker corners of their minds, knowing that later that night, there would come
a time to replay the scene that had unfolded before them, to relive the events,
and to enjoy themselves in that way young, healthy males in their prime so
often do.

Gathering back at the bleachers on the pool
deck, the coach began telling the group about the next week's schedule,
including the season opener against cross-state rival Terre Haute Tech.
Suddenly, he stopped speaking, and walked over to where Jamie sat quietly in
the front row. Placing his palm on Jamie's forehead, he said, "Knox, are you
feeling well? You look a little flushed, maybe a little drained." The comment
brought a round of snickers and guffaws from the assembled athletes. Luke
piped up, saying, "Uh, yeah Coach, the swim workout really drained the little
guy -- it was a bit more than he bargained for." More laughter ensued, causing
the coach to look at the group with a puzzled expression. "I'm...I'm alright
coach. I'm fine," said Jamie. The coach concluded his talk, then dismissed
the team.

As the group was leaving, Luke Collins hurried
over next to Jamie and fell in step beside him. Once outside, he paused, and
asked Jamie to stop for a moment. "Um, Jamie, I just wanted to say something
to you. I wanted to apologize for, well, you know, for what happened back in
the locker room. I can't really explain it, I mean, well, we didn't mean to do
anything...I mean anything to hurt you or embarrass you or anything. I don't honestly
know what came over me, tickling and touching you that way, and, well, making
you get so excited and everything. I'm just sorry that things went farther
than they should have."

Jamie pursed his lips, then looked up into the
taller boy's eyes. "Luke, I know you guys meant no harm, but it was so
humiliating. I honestly don't know how I can face any of guys again. I am so
ashamed, and so embarrassed." When he finished speaking, Jamie just hung his
head, a look of resignation on his handsome face.

Putting an arm around Jamie's shoulder, Luke
spoke honestly to his teammate. "Jamie, we all just got a little excited --
hell, you weren't the only guy in that group with a hard dick. Every one of us
was throbbing, ready to pump. It was just so, well, stimulating I guess is the
best way to say it. You in that little Speedo -- damn, Jamie, I'm straight, at
least I was until this afternoon, but you looked so fuckin' hot in that
swimsuit, so, well, sexy is the best word I can think of. I...I can't really explain
it, maybe it's just your nice physique, the way that little suit just exposed
your body to public view. It just got me, and I think many of the guys, sort
of worked up or something. Now I can see why society frowns on Speedos so much
-- damn, if more guys like you wore those little things in public, it might
drive most all of us `straight' guys over to the other side of the tracks, if
you know what I mean."

Jamie had to chuckle at Luke's remarks, as he
shook his head smiling. Luke continued, saying, "Listen, man, don't feel upset
about what happened. I can promise you NONE of the guys on this team think
anything bad about you. Hell, Jamie, we love having you on our team! You have
no idea how many guys on this team look to you to spark our energy when we are
behind in points. Your enthusiasm, your dedication -- everyone loves that about
you. It's not you who has to worry about facing us -- we are the ones who
should worry about facing you, and we can only hope you will accept us as your
teammates, and not be angry with us for what happened in the locker room. Do
you think you can forgive me, forgive us?"

Jamie smiled shyly, then nodded his head,
saying, "Yeah, let's just forgive and forget. We've got Tech to face next week
-- no use worrying about the past!" The boys walked on across campus, Luke
resting an arm fondly around the shoulders of his smaller friend.

The following week, the team continued to train
hard for the upcoming meet on Friday against Tech. It was the season opener,
and all the guys were really pumped about their matches. The team from Tech
was unpredictable -- one year they were up, loaded with tough talent, the next
year they were down. Rumor had it they'd had a good recruiting season, but as
this was the first meet for both teams, nobody had any `advance' information on
what to expect. But the team that strode into the Holden College Gymnasium was
nothing the Holden boys were prepared for. Somehow, the Tech coach had
recruited a few guys from Eastern Europe -- and these were men, not college
boys. While Division I colleges had strict limits on athlete eligibility, few
limits existed at the lower divisions. The Holden boys found themselves facing
a team stacked with tough, grizzled men -- men with suspiciously muscled bodies,
surly attitudes, and vicious demeanors. "Who are those guys?" whispered Carter
Jacks to senior Mark Jamison. "Are they collegiate wrestlers?" Mark just
shook his head, wondering.

Before the meet, both teams had to report to the
locker room for a weigh-in, supervised by the referee. Weigh-ins were always a
trying time for wrestlers -- a pound over weight and you would be ineligible to
wrestle in your weight class. Years ago, wrestlers had literally done almost
anything to insure they would `make weight' -- they would get onto scales in
another room just before the official weigh-in, and if they were over, they
would only have a short time to quickly drop the extra pound or two. Some
would wrap themselves in heavy sweats, and exercise to near-exhaustion,
wringing the pounds out of their bodies in sweat. Some would hurry to the
bathroom, gagging themselves to purge their stomachs of any excess food.
Diuretics were taken -- and abused -- in an attempt to lose that last pound. The
situation had become so drastic that colleges and high schools and finally
stepped in, monitoring athletes' behavior in an attempt to protect their
health. This had forced wrestlers to be more careful, more watchful over what
and when they ate, how they exercised, how they monitored weight gain and
loss. Now, as the teams from Holden and Tech lined up, there was little
concern of being over.

The teams had their line-ups set in advance, and
each wrestler would get a chance to see his opponent as they made their way to
the scales. The smaller guys went first, and all went well. It was in the
middle and upper weight classes that things got ugly. Bryan Carmichael was not
scheduled to wrestle that day -- Cody would be wrestling in the 174 pound class,
and he was summoned to the scale. His opponent was called -- the first name was
Boris, the last was something the ref could not seem to pronounce. From the
Tech team stepped a man with hard features and cold, empty eyes. He walked up
and stood next to Cody, sizing Cody up and down, smirking, then blatantly
spitting on the floor only inches from Cody's bare feet. Cody stood silently,
his singlet covering him. Boris was also in a singlet, but when he was called
first to the scale, he yanked the singlet down and stepped out of it,
completely naked. And every eye in the room was on him as he stepped onto the
scale. They could not help but look, for between his legs swung a massive cock
-- certainly the largest in the room. Cody had never seen a `larger' man, and
despite himself, he began to feel his own body respond awkwardly, his penis
beginning to stretch inside his own gear.

The ref meanwhile was taken aback -- he couldn't
help but look -- for a few moments -- but then, regaining composure, he stated
the wrestlers needed to be clothed for the weigh-in. An assistant had already
set the scale, and found the man to be at exactly 174.0 pounds, but the ref was
insisting the athlete must be clothed, and the singlet might nudge his weight
over the maximum allowed. The Tech coach stepped up, demanding his wrestlers
could indeed be weighed in the nude -- the rulebook, which he suddenly produced
from his pocket, stated "the athlete should be weighed prior to the match in an
undergarment of his choice." The Tech coach pointed out that the rule said
"should", not "must", therefore allowing the athlete to be naked if he so
desired. Several minutes of consultation between the ref and others ensued,
and finally it was determined that nudity was allowed.

The wrestler named Boris had been waiting,
completely naked, the entire time, standing on the scale facing Cody. He had
noticed the stirring in Cody's singlet, and was now playing mind games with the
college junior -- occasionally reaching between his legs, hefting and scratching
his large sex organ, sometimes pointing it in Cody's direction, smirking at
Cody, intimidating him, threatening him. Cody had never been so blatantly --
and sexually -- challenged by another wrestler, and he was not prepared for such
behavior. It angered him -- but also scared him a little -- to be so directly
challenged. It was as if his opponent was taunting him, threatening him with
- what? Threatening to sexually dominate him -- to, to even rape him on the
mat? As Cody watched, half mesmerized, the man's long organ began to harden
and stiffen, pointing straight at Cody like a missile or weapon that the crude
man was planning to use on the handsome college boy. Cody found himself both
shocked and aroused, amazed the brute would care nothing for the fact that a room
full of athletes, coaches and refs would see him so sexually excited while
totally nude. Boris was trying to intimidate Cody, and it was working.

The weigh-in was finally completed, and the
wrestlers began stretching and preparing for the meet. A crowd of parents,
friends, and fans began to filter into the gym, taking seats in the bleachers
along the walls. The match began well for Holden -- both Jamie Knox and Joey
Mangini topped their opponents in points, though neither managed a pin.
Freshman Zach Crisswell was next on the mat, and he faced one of the scowling
Slavic wrestlers -- a man who was wiry and agile, and looked to be well into his
twenties. Zach had been a highly ranked wrestler back home, but he was no
match for the trained, rugged brute he now faced. The man would lock his arms
around Zach and simply refuse to let go -- despite being warned for stalling by
the ref. A couple of quick moves, and he scored one, then another take-down in
quick succession. Zach did his best, even scoring a point for an escape, but
this only seemed to anger his foe, who now began to take the match to another
level. He suddenly swept Zach off his feet and slammed him viciously to the
mat. Zach tried to escape, but it was no use. His opponent was stronger, and
had excellent timing. He gained the upper hand and about halfway through the
second period, he had Zach on his back, struggling futilely, desperately
twisting his upper body, trying to prevent his shoulders from being pinned.
As the ref hurried to reposition himself for a better view of Zach's shoulders,
the brute -- knowing the ref was not looking -- delivered a quick, nasty punch to
Zach's kidney area, causing the boy to wince in pain and gasp for breath. And
just like that, the ref slammed his hand to the mat -- Zach had been pinned.

Coach Weber, who had seen the punch, protested
adamantly to the referee, but the man could not call what he didn't see. So
the match moved forward, with Josh Rettig narrowly losing to his opponent by a
score of 8-7. Carter Jacks also ended up on the losing end, 8-4. Luke Collins
was next on the mat, facing another of Tech's `imported' wrestlers. Luke was
ahead going into the third and final period, but suddenly, his foe performed a
wrenching move that seriously twisted Luke's right leg, causing the young
wrestler to groan in agony and sink to one knee, unable to stand. The referee
stopped the match while Holden's team manager, trainer and Coach Weber rushed
to Luke's side. The boy was in agony, desperately trying to hold and massage
his upper thigh region, the victim of a groin pull. Unable to continue, Luke
had to forfeit his match.

Then came the match between Boris and Cody.
>From the very start, everyone knew it would be a brutal, bruising clash. The
European had no reservations about attacking, sweeping at Cody, trying to trip
him, to throw him, to hurt him. Cody was able to avoid the charges at first,
but soon the quick foreigner made a sudden dive, wrapping his large arms
around Cody's thighs and lifting him high with relative ease, then slamming him
forcefully to the mat. Momentarily stunned, Cody found himself in danger of a
pin -- only at the last second was he able to spin out and escape the grasp that
had been so crushingly tight only moments ago. With another quick spin, Cody
had scored a reversal, and the score was tied 2-2. But try as he night, Cody
could not get a good hold on his opponent, who slipped from his grasp like an
eel, then, enraged, charged at Cody with such force that he literally lifted
Cody off the mat and hurled him outside the legal circle, where he landed with
a thud on the hard wooden gym floor just off the edge of the mat. Bruised and
shaken, Cody stumbled to his feet, only to be once more swept off his feet and
thrown to the mat -- hard -- on his back. Cody was dazed and weakened -- he had
never in his life faced someone so strong, so undisciplined, so ruthless. He
could hear and see his teammates, especially Bryan, cheering him on, yelling
his name. He tried to draw strength from that, and began to struggle against
his tormentor. He was certain the first period must be nearly over, but
couldn't see the clock. Suddenly, he found himself in a death grip -- Boris was
atop him, forcing his shoulders to the mat. In desperation, Cody arched his
back, doing a back bridge, raising his shoulders off the mat a few inches, just
enough to prevent the pin. He was near the edge of the mat, and suddenly heard
Bryan's voice in his ear -- "Just twelve seconds, Cody -- hold on!" Bryan was telling him only a few seconds remained in the period -- Cody knew he could hold
the bridge for twelve seconds -- what was it now? Ten? Eight? Six? Yes, he
could hold out -- until, in a rage, Boris brutally slammed his arm into Cody's
upraised, exposed crotch -- causing the Holden athlete to collapse in agony to
the mat, as Boris smirked above him, pinning his shoulders.

But instead of the ref's hand smacking the mat,
the ref's whistle blasted shrilly, for he had witnessed the vicious smack on
Cody's genitals, and immediately disqualified the Tech wrestler, giving Cody
the win. But Cody could only lie on the mat, wincing in pain, holding his
hands over his groin, trying without success to ease the sickening pain Boris
had inflicted on his privates. Coach Weber and the team trainer, who had been
trying to tend to Luke, now ran to Cody's aid, though there was little either
could do. The fans were in an uproar, Holden's team was out of their chairs
yelling and shaking fists, and Boris, furious with rage, stormed off to his
team's side of the gym. In blind anger, he grabbed the edge of a table and
flipped it into the air, sending coolers of water, Gatorade, paper cups,
bandages, and other items flying in all directions. Unintelligible words and
grunts flew from his lips as he cursed and swore at the "stupid American
judge", as he called the referee. His own coach and teammates backed away from
him, afraid to draw near and incur his wrath. As things finally began to
settle down, the match continued, with Mark Jamison narrowly losing by just one
point. "B-Man" Bryan Bingham was last up, and he scored a victory for Holden,
but it wasn't enough, and Holden fell to Tech for the first time in a decade.

The Tech team quickly exited the Holden gym, not
even showering -- they simply put their sweats on and hurried to their waiting
bus, even avoiding the traditional meet-ending round of handshakes. It seemed
nobody was in the mood to shake hands anyway, judging by the scowls and
catcalls so prevalently seen and heard in the gymnasium. Tech's coach briefly
knelt next to Coach Weber and whispered a short apology for his wrestlers'
unsportsmanlike behavior, then he reached down and softly squeezed Cody's
shoulder as a way to apologize for the `below-the-belt' attack the youth had
suffered. Then he and his team were gone, leaving pandemonium in their wake --
fans and family in consternation, a ref wondering where and how to file
protests, and two Holden athletes injured.

Bryan Carmichael rushed onto the mat and sat down
next to Cody, who had finally caught his breath, though he was still gingerly
covering his injured maleness, trying to gently rub away the pain while not
appearing to be fondling himself in a public place. Bryan whispered to Cody,
"What can I get you? A bag of ice? Should I bring the team trainer over
here? How can I help you, Cody?"

Cody smiled weakly, then shook his head. "I
think I'll be alright -- in a little while. But my nuts'll be sore for a day or
two!" Just then, the team trainer -- a grad of Holden's kinesiology program --
stepped over to Cody and suggested he be examined in the back room. But Cody
insisted he was feeling better, and promised to contact the Sports Medicine
department on campus if he noticed any lingering pain or bloody emissions from
his male organ. Bryan helped Cody to stand, and together, the two of them
headed for the team lockers and showers. But on the sidelines, Coach Weber,
after assuring himself that Cody was alright, turned his attention once again
to Luke, who was still suffering terrible groin pain. The trainer offered to
help him, but Luke said, "It's OK -- Coach will look after me." The coach
instead told a couple of the wrestlers to escort Luke back to the small prep
room next to his office where the massage table was located. As the team
walked in groups of two or three back to their locker room, Mark Weber hurried
to the prep room to check on Luke Collins.

"It just really hurts, Coach, really bad,"
gasped Luke, as he tried to massage his own upper thigh and groin area. Still
clad in his wrestling singlet, Luke was struggling to slip his hand into the
leg opening and up along his own thigh, trying his best to ease the pain. The
coach stepped up next to him and gently pulled his hand and arm away.

"First, let's strip this singlet off you," said
the coach, slipping the shoulder straps down along Luke's muscle-packed upper
arms, then sliding them over his hands. Luke was standing next to the table,
so it was easy for the coach to then grasp the athlete's uniform by the sides
and tug it downward, past his hips, allowing the red outfit to fall to the
floor. Luke now stood before his coach in just his wrestling shoes and a pair
of light gray CK bikini briefs. "Can you hop up onto the table, Luke?" he asked
quietly. When Luke was seated on the table, his coach knelt before him and
untied, then removed his shoes and socks. "Now, please lie back for me," Coach
Weber stated. "I've treated such injuries more times than I can count, and I
know exactly how to make you feel better." Luke stretched out on the massage
table, and Mark Weber placed his warm hands directly on Luke's right upper
thigh. He then began kneading the taut muscles, firmly and deliberately
isolating various tendons and muscles in the young man's thigh, then expertly
squeezing and soothing the injured area. He worked the quadriceps, then lifted
Luke's knee and began massaging the hamstring area, before slipping his hand
further up the large thigh. Now, he began to massage the adductor muscles.
Using just one hand, the coach softly but firmly massaged along Luke's inner
thigh, starting at the knee and going toward the pubic area. As his hand
approached Luke's `private parts', he cupped the full pouch of Luke's bikini
and gently lifted the athlete's genitals up and away with his left hand, while
his right continued the soft massage. Luke remained quiet on the table, though
his heart did begin to pound when he felt his coach's hand lifting and holding
his male organ safely aside as the massage progressed. Slowly, the pain began
to ease as the coach allowed his thumb and fingers to work the sore, strained
muscle. This went on for several minutes. And during this time, Luke's
bikini-covered sex organ remained safe and snug, clasped in Coach Weber's large
hand.

Luke could feel the pain easing, but he could
also feel something else -- a growing sense of arousal as he lay on the table,
his very maleness cradled by the coach. The erotic symbolism, the very
intimate nature of the way Coach was touching him, began to impinge on Luke's
thoughts, and he felt a blush spread across his cheeks as he realized his male
organ was beginning to stir within the small bikini pouch. As the coach's
fingers tenderly rubbed his sore muscle, easing the pain, Luke's `love muscle'
began to force itself to the forefront of his attention. It continued to stir
like a snake awakened from a bask in the early spring warmth, moving, growing,
slipping, lengthening beneath the thin cotton of his little bikini. Luke wanted
to control it, to keep his straining organ in check, but he knew it was no use
-- Coach could feel the beast straining in his hand -- could sense the growing,
surging power of the wrestler's cock.

Mark Weber had known this would happen. He had
known it from the moment Luke had said those fateful words, "Coach will look
after me." For you see, this had happened before -- seven times to be precise.
As a freshman, maybe two months into the first semester, Luke had injured his
left hip during a training mishap. It had only been bruised, but Luke had
insisted Coach should look at it -- he had come to Mark's office and stripped to
his Hanes `tighty-whities' briefs so the coach could assess the injury. A
cursory exam told him nothing was seriously wrong, but to appease the worried
kid, he had stretched him on the massage table and gently began to rub the area
for a couple moments. Almost instantly, Luke was sporting a long, prominent
erection which began to throb and twitch in his underwear. The boy insisted
the pain had somehow `moved' to the front of his hip, causing Mark to now begin
massaging the left front of Luke's hip, his hands and fingers mere inches from
the athlete's hard-on. The more he rubbed, the more the wrestler moaned and
sighed, but whether from the relief of pain or for some other reason, Mark
wasn't sure. Suddenly, Luke had twisted his lower body slightly, sliding his
hips an inch or two to the left -- leaving his coach's hands directly on his
hard shaft. Mark had quickly withdrawn them, only to have Luke say quietly,
"No, please don't stop. Not yet." Lowering his hands again, Mark had
proceeded to gently rub and fondle the priapean offering, basically
masturbating the young stud until he had ejaculated a large, sticky load of cum
that soaked the front of his snug underpants. Though he had known it was wrong
to touch his youthful charge -- a member of his team -- in such a blatantly
sexual way, Mark had been unable to resist. His years of self-denial, his
enforced celibacy, his wall of resistance, had been breached by an eighteen
year old boy in a pair of white briefs.

Immediately, Mark had felt utter shame and
humiliation, and he had stammered a profuse apology to the teen, claiming it
was all a mistake, he had never meant to touch him so intimately, it would
certainly never happen again, please forgive him. Before his eyes, Mark saw
his coaching career coming to a crashing end, his name in the papers for
molesting a student who had turned to him for aid, perhaps facing jail time for
his crime. His life was over, his name ruined, all for what -- one simple
jerk-off he'd performed on a boy who had trusted him, needed him. He was,
therefore, astounded, when a smiling Luke had sat up, hopped off the table,
retrieved a pair of shorts out of his gym bag and pulled them over his soiled
underwear, and turned to him, saying, "Thanks, Coach -- I'm feeling lots better
now. See you tomorrow." And with that, Luke had walked out of the prep room,
whistling a tune on his full, pretty lips.

That evening some three years earlier had been
one of total fear and confusion for Mark Weber. Had he been `busted' by Luke?
Was Luke at that very moment recounting the massage table events to a listening
police officer, perhaps with a tape recorder running, documenting what had
transpired between coach and athlete? Mark had not slept that night, tossing
and turning, expecting the tell-tale pounding on the door at midnight, then 2
a.m., then 4 a.m. for certain. But there had been nothing -- no police, no call
from the Athletic Director -- nothing to indicate anything was awry. The next
day had been a Friday, and the team -- including Luke -- had shown up for
practice as usual.

Afterwards, Mark was shocked when Luke came to
him, explaining he still had some soreness in his hip, though Mark had seen no
sign of this alleged pain during the hard practice Luke had endured that
afternoon. Mark was unsure what to say or do, but did not object when Luke
followed him to the prep room. Closing the door, Mark turned around to find
Luke already stripped to his briefs, looking all innocent and sexy and horny as
he waited by the table for Mark to come over and `massage' him. "Please, Coach
-- you made me feel so good yesterday. Can you help me again today?" Luke said,
shrugging his shoulders shyly, tilting his head to look at Mark, his eyebrows
raised in sweet innocence. Mark simply could not resist -- for so long, he had
denied himself the full pleasure of holding and touching another male. Now,
here was prime, Grade A All-American beef offering himself willingly, eagerly.
Mark realized that Luke needed to be touched, to be loved, as badly as he
himself needed to touch and love. Mark indicated the youth should hop up onto
the table, but Luke had other ideas.

"Coach?" said the wrestler, "I know I haven't
been working as hard in practice the past few weeks as you'd like me to. I
guess I've been slacking a little -- maybe being at college, away from home,
partying more than I should, not really having my mind on wrestling the way I
need to..." Mark started to reply, planning to tell Luke that his work ethic
had been excellent, but Luke's next words silenced him completely, nearly
causing him to swallow his tongue. "I, um, understand Coach, that you need to
spank me for my poor behavior. I'll try harder Coach, honest I will. But I'm
ready for my punishment." With that, the cocky teen dropped his head, a look
of sad expectation on his face as he shyly glanced into Mark's eyes.

Mark realized immediately exactly what was being
offered -- the chance to `spank' this `bad boy', to dominate him and be an
authority figure for him. Mark felt a sudden surge in his loins -- the thought
of putting young Luke across his lap and paddling his bottom had an erotic
allure that Mark could not deny. However, he was stunned that this strapping
jock would be into playing such a submissive role. Nevertheless, he led the
athlete, still wearing his tight white briefs, over to a large sofa along the
back wall of the room. Mark quickly grabbed a few items off a nearby shelf and
set them on a small table near the sofa, then took a seat. Quietly, and rather
shyly, Luke climbed onto the sofa and stretched his hard, muscular body out
across Mark's lap, his plump bubble butt perched directly atop Mark's thighs,
his heavy genitals snuggled down between Mark's legs. Mark began to gently
chide the young man, swatting his tight ass firmly, but not painfully.
"Harder, please Coach," Luke whispered. Mark increased the tempo and power of
his striking hand, hitting Luke's right cheek, then his left. Luke still wore
the tight briefs, and Mark enjoyed the feel of the soft cotton fabric as he
struck the sweet ass that was offered to him. Soon, however, he had an idea.
Slipping his fingers under the Hanes waistband, he slowly tugged the back of
Luke's briefs down, slipping them down to the wrestler's upper thighs, leaving
his tender white ass naked and exposed. Now, the coach could see some redness
on those succulent globes, and soon his right hand was delivering blow after
blow as Luke quietly whimpered, apologizing over and over, promising the coach
he would be good from now on. Between his legs, Mark felt two hard objects --
his own cock stretching down his thigh under his boxer-briefs, and Luke's hard shaft
throbbing against his upper thigh. Moments later, he felt a burst of warmth on
that thigh, and realized his pupil had ejaculated a hot load of his fertile
manseed. Within a few minutes, Mark was shocked to see the redness on Luke's
ass had become angry red welts, and he felt ashamed that his spanking had
become something more vicious, more painful. He stopped striking the boy
immediately, and reached over to the nearby table to retrieve a tube of
medicinal salve he had placed there. Squeezing some onto his fingers, he began
to gently massage it onto Luke's sore ass, rubbing the creamy lotion across one
cheek, then the other, alternating in a way to bring relief to the poor boy,
whom he had never meant to actually injure.

Luke's promises to `be good', and to `do
whatever my coach says' were quickly replaced by sighs and gentle cooing, as
the healing herbs brought relief to his flaming ass. Soon, Mark's fingers were
slippery with the goo, sliding to and fro from cheek to cheek. On a sudden
whim, Mark tentatively, and very softly, slipped a finger between the mounds of
that tempting athletic ass, gently probing, seeking entry to Luke's virgin
rosebud. At first, the ass muscles clenched tightly, as if in defiance of this
intrusion. But soon enough, Luke began to relax, and as he did so, his
innocent hole began to loosen, and was quickly penetrated by a slithering,
eager finger. Mark could not believe it -- Luke was actually allowing him to
slide his finger into his quivering rectum. Sensing it was the boy's first
time, Mark was gentle -- very, very gentle -- allowing Luke to become accustomed
to this intrusion into unmarked territory. Mark began to wiggle his finger,
teasing and feeling up into Luke's innocent chute while Luke himself was
gnashing his teeth and squirming in excitement, and a little pain, as he felt
the alien invade his most private place. Soon enough, Luke was writhing to and
fro on Mark's lap as his excitement and arousal grew.

Mark could not believe his good fortune -- that
this hot, handsome wrestler was allowing himself to be touched and stimulated
so intimately by his coach. Mark could feel his own heart pounding as he
worked the teenaged stud into a frenzy of sexual need. Luke was now becoming
short of breath, gasping and squirming as Mark inserted a second finger.
Reaching and probing still further into the boy's warm insides, he finally felt
it -- a hard little knot -- and when he touched it, poor Luke nearly bucked off
Mark's lap as his body began to quiver and shake. Again -- and again -- Mark
probed Luke's sensitive prostate, teasing it, and driving poor Luke almost
insane with desire. "Oh...oh...oh please...oh," was all he could say as his coach
worked him over. Luke's cock was now completely out of control, drooling his
love syrup in a continuous stream before once again shooting a hot, sticky load
of semen -- his second emission in less than fifteen minutes! And still, the
torment continued...

Mark could have teased Luke's cute bubble-butt
all night, but the boy wasn't exactly light, and Mark's upper legs were
screaming with pain after supporting so much of the jock's weight for the
better part of an hour, as he had continued alternately spanking (but more
gently) and reaming the horny teen. Then he had repositioned Luke on the sofa,
knelt over him, and begun to hungrily rim the young satyr, lapping his tongue
along Luke's sweaty crack, then pushing it between those glorious mounds and
stabbing the tender opening with his tongue until it gave way, surrendering to
the incessant pressure Mark's flicking tongue was administering. As he had finally
gained oral entrance to the tantalizing love canal, Mark had become so
overwhelmed with lust that he had shot his own hefty load of spunk into the
front of his wet boxer-briefs. The oral action had also proved too much for
Luke, who chose that moment to expel his third creamy load onto the sofa
beneath him, which, fortunately, Mark had had the foresight to cover with a
towel. Finally, he had allowed Luke to sit up and catch his breath. A noise
from the hallway outside had reminded them of their location, and they had
quickly dressed, with Luke saying, "Well, thanks again, Coach. I'm sorry I've
been misbehaving -- I'll do better now that you've disciplined me. If I don't,
well I guess you may need to spank me some more." And then, he was gone,
opening the door and hurrying out into the hall, leaving Mark spent and shaken.

And then -- nothing. Luke had continued to come
to practice, continued to work hard, continued to do well in his matches. But
weeks went by, and Luke never asked the coach for any special `massages'. Mark
was not totally surprised -- the holidays were a busy time for students at
Holden, what with fall semester final exams and such. In January, the
wrestling team had to come back early to campus -- at least two weeks before
other students, though members of the swim and basketball teams were also back
early for winter practice. Luke had not been `distant' -- he was the same
outgoing, warm, friendly boy he'd been back at the beginning of the season --
but he just didn't seem interested in pursuing further relations with his
coach. And of course the coach wouldn't dare mention anything to the student
about renewing their special friendship -- he dare not endanger his job or
reputation by recklessly pursuing the teenager. Mark noticed a pretty brunette
was now always at Luke's side following their home meets, and he had seen the
athlete walking across campus hand-in-hand with the same girl a couple times
that winter. So, that was it, thought Mark. Luke had found a girlfriend, who
was no doubt sating the youth's need for sexual release.

Mark had been terribly disappointed, but he
understood. And, with much struggling and soul-searching, he accepted the
situation, and returned to his lonely, celibate lifestyle. It was early spring
-- the beginning of April to be exact -- and the wrestling season was over,
although the team still did frequent light workouts to stay in shape. Late one
afternoon, Luke had tapped on Mark's office door, then entered and explained
that he had a `pain' in his shoulder, and he wondered if Mark would take a
look? Mark's heart skipped a beat, maybe two, before he told Luke to come in
and remove his shirt, which the brawny athlete promptly did. Mark was shocked
when he moved behind Luke and placed his hands on the wrestler's shoulders,
only to have Luke lean his head back against the man's chest, turn his pretty
blue eyes up at Mark, and say, "I've missed your special touch, Coach."

The two muscular men -- one eighteen, the other
thirty-four years of age, came together as one. In a frenzy of tugging,
pulling, and ripping, Mark stripped the stud completely nude in less than
thirty seconds. Once naked, Mark had begun caressing and stroking the young
jock's hard body, eager to touch him anywhere, everywhere. But he was
surprised when Luke had suddenly thrown his arms around him and pulled him
close, holding him close -- almost squeezing the very breath out of him. Then
Luke had pulled his head back, and looked deeply into Mark's eyes, choking up
as he spoke. "Oh, Coach, oh, I...need...I need this so much." Mark felt tears of
joy welling up in his eyes, and he could see Luke's eyes were red as well.
Knowing the prep room was deserted, Mark led the big stud there through the
doorway from his office. Making sure the hallway door was locked, he took Luke
over to the same sofa where they had shared intimacy the previous autumn. And,
just as he had some six months earlier, he again explored Luke's luscious young
body, touching, licking, and sucking his way along biceps grown larger and
stronger since the fall, abs grown tauter and more chiseled, and a cock which
was gaining length and girth before his very eyes. Slowly and deliberately, he
made oral love to Luke, while the boy clenched and unclenched his fists in a
desperate and ultimately futile attempt to maintain control over his own body.
But Luke realized soon enough that it was hopeless -- the man now fingering his
horny chute while simultaneously licking the bulbous head of his swollen shaft
knew exactly what he was doing -- knew exactly how to drive the wrestler to the
very edge of sanity, and then push him over the cliff of physical ecstasy.

"Oh, Coach, oh...oh...do it,man. Milk
that jizz out of my dick, Coach, please...oh, please, milk me, Coach, milk me
dry," Luke whispered, as Mark stopped licking the hard shaft and began to
stroke the wet, slimy rod from balls to tip. Within mere minutes, Luke's
seed-laden testicles were stirring in their sac as the coach expertly
administered a ball-busting ejaculation which drained the white-hot sperm from
Luke's reproductive organ, leaving the boy spent and panting for breath.

Suddenly, Mark received the shock
of his life when Luke reached forward and began to squeeze and play with the
swollen meat hanging between his legs, though still covered by his gray
sweatpants. Mark had not expected the young buck to reciprocate -- he felt
certain the wrestler would not have been interested in an `older' guy, though he
had no problem allowing the older guy to body-worship him. But here was Luke,
now snaking his hand down the front of Mark's sweats, wrapping his meaty fist
around the coach's rock-hard cock, teasing and fondling it adoringly, a look of
wonderment in his eyes. "Oh geez, Coach, yours is so big, so fuckin' big..."
said the teenager, totally in awe. Luke's horny words struck a chord in Mark,
and the older man felt himself growing aroused quite quickly. He couldn't
believe how eagerly his young athlete was groping him, touching his sex organ,
playing with it, feeling it. Luke petted the hard shaft with the purplish
mushroom-shaped cap lovingly, then wrapped his fingers around the tube of hard
flesh, alternately squeezing it and rubbing it, creating sensations that were
literally driving Mark into a heated state of sexual desire.

"Slow...slow down there, big boy,"
Mark finally said, feeling the orgasm that was quickly building within him.
But Luke shook his head, saying, "No, Coach, I can't stop. I wanna make you
squirt -- make you shoot a load -- just milk the fuckseed out of you like you
just did to me. Please, Coach, please let me...please," Luke said
matter-of-factly. Mark sighed. Who was he to refuse such a plea? Such an
honest, open request? Mark smiled, then nodded approval, saying, "OK, OK, you
got me all worked up. Might as well take me all the way." And that was
exactly what the young wrestler did -- he proceeded to stroke and jack the
coach's cock, scraping his fingernails up and down the long shaft, his face so
close to Mark's dick he could feel Luke's warm breath blowing across his
sensitive glans. Mark was wondering, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the teen
would hesitantly open his mouth, stick out his tongue, and tentatively swab his
drizzling cockhead, lapping up the juices Mark's overcharged organ was
releasing in oozes and spurts. But it was not to be -- at least not this time --
Luke simply kept up his furious pace of pumping and rubbing and stroking and
teasing until Mark's legs began to shake with the tension and excitement. As
Luke's thumb rubbed Mark's so-sensitive undershaft, Mark knew that was it --
with a groan of ecstasy, his dick began to ejaculate thick gobs of his semen,
which squirted out in arcs from his groin to splatter the floor around the two
men. Mark was so overcome with lust and desire that he sank to his knees,
leaning forward, struggling to catch his breath.

Then, just as had happened before,
Luke was gone, hurrying back to his dorm, then getting caught up in the final weeks
of the spring semester. There were finals to take, term papers to complete,
and Coach Weber only saw Luke at the team work-outs, which were really just
exercise sessions to stay in shape. Then came summer, and the athletes were
back home working part-time jobs, vacationing with family and friends. Mark
was delighted to receive a phone call from Luke in mid-July, just a quick `how
ya doin, see ya in September' sort of thing. Yet it made Mark happy to know
the big kid was thinking of him.

Luke's sophomore year arrived, as
did Ashleigh. She was a young lady Luke had met in one of his classes the
previous spring who had taken a strong interest in the boy over summer post
cards and frequent phone calls. September found them constantly together, as did
October and November. Mark could certainly see why -- Ashleigh was beautiful,
vivacious, and extremely sexy, with a gorgeous figure and legs that seemed to
go on forever. It was obvious how smitten Luke was -- he fawned over her,
worshipped her. The few minor pains and strains he suffered in practice and
early meets were handled by the team trainer, or perhaps by Ashleigh herself,
Mark thought ruefully. But in late November, Luke was back in the prep room,
sobbing on Mark's shoulder as he told how Ashleigh had dumped him for the
handsome, blond quarterback of Holden College's surprisingly successful
football team. Luke's sobs had quickly turned into pleas for discipline,
admitting to the coach it was his own fault for losing Ashleigh, and that his
`badness' needed to be punished severely.

And so it had gone -- for the
remainder of Luke's sophomore year, and his junior term as well, the poor boy
would come to Mark once in a great while, during some drought between
girlfriends, to have a sore muscle massaged, or to be disciplined for some
imaginary wrong. Mark, of course, realized the only sore muscle that Luke
really had during his visits was a broken heart, but he didn't mind. He knew
Luke had to play it `straight' with the other guys on the team. And, in his
own mind, Mark believed that Luke considered himself to be heterosexual. Yet
he also knew that once in a while, Luke's voracious need for sexual release
would bring the wrestler to the prep room, where the two men would enjoy rare
moments of total bliss and unbridled passion. Now, it was Luke's senior year,
and Mark wondered what the coming months would bring. Would Luke finally find
a campus girl who would become his true love? Would Luke admit that he indeed
had feelings for another male, and entertain the possibility that perhaps he
was bisexual? As Luke's groin pain eased, Mark found himself cradling the
young man's genitals, warmly fondling them inside the light gray CK bikini.
Knowing Luke was a senior -- knowing this would be his last year on campus --
Mark did something he never thought he would have done in his life. Releasing
his hold on Luke's cock, he picked up Luke's right hand in both of his and,
holding it tightly, looked into the surprised wrestler's eyes and stated
simply, "I'm in love with you, Lucas Collins."

After the turmoil of the day's
meet, Cody and Bryan had returned to the latter's dorm room to relax. They had
just entered the room when Bryan's cell phone began to ring. "Hello?" said Bryan, not recognizing the return number displayed. A smile quickly spread across his
face when he heard Edward's voice on the line. Edward knew via the Holden College athletic web site that the Holden team had their first meet of the season,
and he had called to see how things went. The boys chatted for several
minutes, and Bryan was greatly relieved to hear Edward's therapy was going
well. "It seems I have self-esteem issues, according to my therapist," the boy
told Bryan. "But my doctor wears bow ties and sandals, so I sometimes think he
needs me to counsel him!" Edward had affirmed, much to Bryan's amusement. When
the call ended, Bryan filled Cody in on the half of the conversation he
couldn't hear. "I'm so glad Edward is doing alright," he said, and Cody nodded
in agreement. "I sort of miss the guy, you know?" Cody smiled
understandingly, then pulled Bryan close to him and hugged him tightly,
saying, "I know he misses you, too."

Bryan asked Cody how he was
feeling, if he was recovering from the blow he'd received earlier that day from
his nasty opponent. Cody admitted his nuts were still a little sore, but
otherwise he was recovering. Bryan expressed concern that perhaps the punch to
Cody's genitalia had possibly caused an injury that couldn't be seen, and
wondered if he should yet escort the junior to the health center or maybe a
town doctor. But Cody assured him he would be alright -- he'd seen no blood in
his piss, so felt sure he would heal satisfactorily. But he did have one favor
to ask of his younger teammate. "Um, Bryan, since it does hurt a little to
ride my bike -- you know how those bike seats can press against your `nads --
would it be OK if I stayed here with you tonight instead of riding all the way
back to my apartment?"

"Of course, Cody," Bryan answered. "I'm glad you want to stay. We'll walk over to that pizza place again,
and this time I'll treat you to dinner -- a reward for your battle wounds! Then
we can just chill here in my room -- relax and maybe play some cards or a video
game -- whatever you want to do."

"That sounds nice, Bry -- just me
and you hangin' together. No place I'd rather be tonight," said the older
athlete to his excited younger friend.